Love is Only Half Blind
by Soul of Frodo
Summary: Bookverse, but not a TTT/RotK spoiler as of yet. A Frodo romance - yikes! - but fairly canon-compatible. PG for now, but may go up a little in the later chapters. Temporarily on hold until I coax my mac into being reasonable.


This is my first attempt at a Frodo romance, and I don't think I'll try it again. Fortunately, Phlox only scored 15 on the Mary-Sue litmus test!

Notes: Merry is 10 (6 by our reckoning); Fatty is 12 (7), as is Sam (going by the Longfather Tree, not the timeline). Bram is 27 (17), Thistle is 25 (16), and Cicely is 13 (8). Frodo is 23 (15); Phlox is 20 (13). Old Bilbo is 101 (that is to say, 64). The equation can be found in Would You Lead These Lambs Astray?

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this, would I put a disclaimer here? Blessed be Tolkien! -I _do_ own the entire Brownlock family, as well as the Goodbodies, but their surnames are Tolkien's, of course. The convoluted storyline is mine, too, but you can have it, if you like.

Another Note: Sorry if it's a tad long for a first chapter, but so much had to _happen_ in it. I hope no one minds.

LAST NOTE: My most sincere thanks to everyone who reviewed Would You Lead These Lambs Astray? You're all too kind, really! **is quite pleased**

~*~

Chapter the First: Grins & White Rabbits 

~*~

It was a wonderful day - June 7th of the year 1392. The sky was clear and blue as a cornflower, and the birds sang as sweetly as if it were the first of all days.

Happy, childish laughter floated on the breeze that wove through the trees of the little copse. Three hobbit-boys, one already in his tweens, were sprawled out in the shade of an old oak tree, chattering away the sweltering-hot hours before teatime.

"...So I was just going to teach them a lesson," Merry was saying, vividly describing the events of the previous day, "and show them what we Brandybucks are made of, when One-eyed Phlox came out, so we all ran off. I never did find those cowardly Goodbodies again."

Fatty gaped in open admiration of Merry's 'bravery.' Frodo, however, was curious, and not at all impressed.

"Who's One-eyed Phlox?"

"You don't know about One-eyed Phlox?" asked Merry in astonishment. Even Fatty was amazed.

"No." Frodo looked his little cousin in the eye. "Who is she? And how'd _you_ hear about her?"

"Gus Goodbody told me about her."

"Before or after you almost whipped him?"

"After. _Anyway_, she's only got one eye."

"So I guessed," commented Frodo dryly. "Why'd you run from her?"

"'Cause she's got black magic, that's why," Fatty volunteered matter-of-factly. "She's got a dragon's eye under that eyepatch, so she can see everything. If she looks at you with her dragon eye, you turn into a white rabbit."

"And who told you that?"

"Gus and Gud!" replied Merry, as if it were painfully obvious. "They know all about it, 'cause they live just down the road!"

"But didn't they also say that Brandybucks are simpering cowards?"

Merry scowled and nodded.

"Then why believe them?" While Merry and Fatty pondered this, Frodo continued, "I'll bet that Phlox is as decent as Mrs. Gamgee."

Merry suddenly looked mischievous.

"I dare you to go visit her," he said cheekily. "You'll be sorry when you're a white rabbit!"

Fatty hooted with pleasure at the very thought. Frodo merely smiled.

"Very well." He stood up and stretched his limbs. "It's nearly teatime. Let's go."

"When'll you go and see One-eyed Phlox?" persisted Fatty, enjoying the prospect of a little adventure.

"Tomorrow." Frodo helped each of his young cousins to their feet. "Then we'll see just who's the white rabbit."

~*~

"So how are our young guests enjoying their stay?" asked Bilbo, puffing contentedly at his pipe. "They haven't been causing any trouble, I hope."

"Don't think so," said Frodo absently, gazing over the magnificent view afforded by the top step of the stair leading to Bag End. His mind was on other things, or, more correctly, other people.

"Uncle Bilbo," he asked slowly, "do you know anyone called Phlox?"

The old hobbit looked thoughtfully at his ward.

"Hmm…Phlox Brownlock?"

"Maybe that's her name." Frodo hesitated for a moment before asking, "Does she have only one eye?"

"One eye? Well, there was some talk, a few years ago, that one of Bolo Brownlock's daughters had lost an eye. Perhaps it was she." He looked quizzically at Frodo. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm visiting her tomorrow."

Bilbo nearly dropped his pipe.

"What?"

"Merry dared me." Frodo looked at his feet. "I'm going after lunch tomorrow."

"Well!" exclaimed Bilbo. "_Dared_ to!"

"He and Fatty seem to think that she turns people into white rabbits," explained Frodo. Bilbo chuckled.

"Well, that's two she's made, at least." He smiled benevolently. "Here, Frodo, how's this: we'll pay the whole family a formal visit, and you can meet Phlox."

Frodo felt weak with relief.

"Thank you - _thank_ you, Uncle Bilbo."

"No trouble at all, Frodo my lad." Bilbo looked up and sniffed the air. "Supper's about ready. Let's go in."

"Be right there." Frodo hopped up and headed for the side garden.

As he expected, Sam Gamgee was there, finishing his work before going home.

"Sam?"

The young gardener looked up from the peonies he was inspecting.

"Mr. Frodo!" He stood up quickly and nodded in formal greeting. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Frodo looked around carefully; no one was in sight.

"I see your gaffer's gone home already."

"Yes, sir. He likes his vittles hot. I was just lookin' over these flowers - they've come in right pretty."

"They certainly have." Frodo looked out across Hobbiton, worry creeping into his face. "Sam, could I ask you something?"

"Of course, Mr. Frodo."

"You know the Brownlocks, I trust?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know that you and your gaffer hear all the gossip in the Shire." Frodo looked nervously at his feet. "Do you think it's...er..._safe_...to visit them?"

Sam grinned.

"I reckon Miss Phlox won't bite you," he said sincerely.

Frodo grinned back.

"Someone's too sharp for his own good!" he teased. "I'll have to tickle him back to normal!"

With that, he pounced upon the startled Sam.

"Oh, stoppit, stoppit!" the gardener giggled, having been tickled to the ground. "You'll tickle away my appetite!"

~*~

"And remember, boys: be on your _best behavior_, or it's straight to bed with the both of you, and nothing but bread and water until tomorrow."

Fatty looked so doleful at the idea that Frodo laughed aloud. Merry, however, only grinned at Frodo.

"Oh, we'll be good, Uncle Bilbo," he said with mock-sobriety. "_Very_ good."

"Excellent." Bilbo knocked thrice upon the round blue door of the Brownlocks' hole.

Then came the longest fifteen seconds of Frodo's tween years.

_Why'd I let Merry talk me into this? I mean, maybe I won't be turned into a rabbit, but...oh, drat it all!_

The door was opened by a pretty, plump lass of about Frodo's age. She showed them in, explaining that the family had just finished their luncheon, but they were welcome to have a drink. Frodo thought her to be the fussiest little lady he had ever met.

While Bilbo greeted Mr. and Mrs. Brownlock, Thistle (as the older girl was called) introduced them to Cicely, the youngest, who was just a year older than Fatty. She smiled shyly at the guests; she had a delicate face, not so friendly or homely as her mother or older sister.

"I can't say I know where Bram is," Thistle admitted, "but he's sure to - _ahhh_!"

A hobbit, obviously her brother, had crept up behind her and seized her around the waist. He spun her around before setting her on her feet, both laughing for all their worth.

Grinning, he extended his hand toward Frodo.

"Bramble Brownlock, but call me Bram."

"Frodo Baggins." They shook hands, then Merry and Fatty introduced themselves.

"So," Frodo began, trying to sound very nonchalant, "is this all of you?"

The Brownlock children were suddenly very quiet

"Well, there's Phlox," admitted Bram at last. Thistle looked at him sharply; he ignored her.

Frodo took a deep breath.

"Phlox?" _Now or never_. "I should very much like to meet her."

"I'll take you to her," Cicely volunteered.

As Frodo was lead away, Merry looked at Fatty worriedly.

"How old is Frodo?" he whispered urgently.

"Twenty-something-or-other."

"Thought so." Merry grabbed Fatty's collar and pulled until their heads nearly knocked.

"Now, how old do _rabbits_ get?"

~*~

Cicely led Frodo to a room near the back of the hole. She knocked softly upon the door.

"Is that you, Cece?" The words were barely audible.

"Yes. There's a visitor here to see you."

The change in tone was astonishing.

"A visitor? For me? Really? Who?"

Cicely grinned.

"Mr. Frodo Baggins."

There was a long pause.

"Don't tease me, Cece. Who is it, really?"

"Just like I said: Frodo Baggins."

"No, really." There was a dry chuckle. "What could Frodo Baggins _possibly_ want with _me_? Every lass in the Shire _worships_ him."

Frodo felt the blood rise to his face. Cicely stifled a giggle.

"Oh, whoever it is, let them in."

Cicely opened the door noiselessly and stepped to one side. With some trepidation, Frodo walked in quietly.

The room was small and cozy. Sunlight streamed through the one large window, making the rocking chair - and its occupant - glow with honey-colored light.

That, then, was One-eyed Phlox.

She was bent over her sewing; her acorn-brown curls fell loosely about her face, obscuring it from view. Frodo thought he could hear her singing softly.

Slowly, she looked up; the curtain of hair fell away.

"Cece, I said-"

Her face was delicately built, with high cheekbones, thin lips, and a perfect little nose. She looked more like Cicely or Bram than Thistle. Her single eye, tinted deep indigo, was wide with surprise; the other - the left - was covered by a white silk eyepatch with a sprig of purple phlox embroidered on it, and held on by a narrow while ribbon. As she saw just who had come to visit, a tinge crept of pink crept into her pale cheeks - pale as Frodo's own face after a long winter indoors, far from the sun.

For a long moment, they stared silently at each other, he in the blue-grey shadows, she in the clear golden light.

Impulsively, Frodo smiled. The whole situation was perfectly ridiculous.

"Did you really mean that? About all the lasses in the Shire worshipping me?"

Phlox blushed a deep crimson and said nothing.

"Does that include you?" Frodo himself blushed at his own boldness. Phlox responded with a glare that would have shriveled a dandelion.

Frodo took a deep breath.

"Look; I think we've started out all wrong."

"I'll say!"

"Then let's start again." He bowed as Bilbo had taught him, without overbalancing. "Frodo Baggins, at your service."

Phlox laid aside her sewing and rose. Dropping a neat curtsy, she replied, "Phlox Brownlock, at yours."

Frodo suddenly realized that he was out of ideas. He had done the task required; what now?

"Have a seat," Phlox offered graciously, indicating a chair that stood about a meter from the rocking chair.

Once they were both seated, Frodo knew what to do.

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss Phlox, what happened to your eye?"

"This?" Phlox touched the eyepatch lightly. "Accidents happen. I bothered Thistle while she was knitting. The wound got infected, so the doctor had to take out the whole eye."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen. Thistle was about my age."

"Which is...?"

"Twenty. I'll be twenty-one in September."

"Really? My birthday is on the 22nd of September."

"Mine's the nineteenth!" Both grinned.

"My Uncle Bilbo's birthday is the same as mine, so we have lovely grand parties. You should have been there last year."

"Tell me all about it!"

~*~

She was not, by any stretch of the imagination, hard to talk to. She listened eagerly to every smidgeon of information concerning the outside world.

"I don't go out very often," she replied when he remarked on her curiosity. "People always seem nervous around me - not that I blame them." She smiled dryly. "Bram came home twice with a black eye from fighting with someone who..." She blinked a few times. "Who..."

"Who made sport of you?"

Phlox nodded dumbly, biting her lip.

Frodo looked at her for a long moment. The clear sunlight that set her aglow also made the unshed tears in her right eye sparkle.

An idea struck him. He jumped up.

"I'll be back in a moment."

"Oh..." Phlox looked at the floor. "You're leaving, then."

"No, no, of _course_ not." Frodo stepped into the light and laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute; I promise."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving a flustered lass breathless.

~*~

Merry and Fatty looked up from their drinks when Frodo emerged from the dark passage.

"You're alive!" they chorused, leaving their mugs on the table as they ran to greet him.

To the astonishment of all present, Frodo seized both of his young cousins by the ear and began dragging them down the hall.

"Hey!" protested Merry, squirming and clawing at Frodo's hand, as did Fatty. "What's gotten _into_ you? Let go!"

Frodo just pulled harder.

"Come on, you white rabbits. You're apologizing to Miss Phlox right now."

~*~

Thank you for reading, and please review!

© SoF 2002


End file.
